makinglies | Til the siren come calling

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Til the siren come calling

"We appreciate your hard work. We have one last mission for you."

The words rang through his mind and made him burn with anger and betrayal. He tried to make his body move, to force it to get up and fight back, to stop the Lazarus from doing whatever it was about to do as it approached, but he couldn't move except to squirm and flinch.

The zombie cyborg knelt down beside him and put a hand on his head, tilting it back to expose his neck as something bit into the human skin there. He watched as Void left the room, unconcerned with what was going on behind him and Jet's thoughts slowly slipped away. Then there was something else in his head. A voice was whispering to him, a familiar voice..someone he could trust; there was nothing but that voice and it's reminder how there was someone who betrayed him...no, multiple someones, people he'd trusted and thought wanted him around but were just using him, he needed to get back at them.

Istanbul. That was where they were.

'Go! Go! Traitors don't deserve to live anyway.' It whispered and he listened. His jets burned hot as they propelled him into the sky, indiscriminate of the building around him, it didn't matter, there was no time to waste.

He flew as fast as he could for the Gilmore Foundation.

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To his credit, Albert does his best to be a buffer between Jet and the others. His patience holds unknowable depths when facing Gilmore's gun waving and Chang and Geronimo's unease. He remains calm and politic, suggesting Francoise run a scan on Jet's brain to mollify their suspicious surrogate father. He knows it's all with reason. They're all hurting but Gilmore takes these things particularly hard and after the losses they've already suffered, he's utterly terrified of letting Jet back in and finding he's still just as gone. Sometimes, it's too difficult to care without proof.

Finally, after all the haranguing and examinations, Albert and Jet are left in the relative quiet of the medical lab, Jet with a long cable snaking from the back of his neck to a nearby console that Francoise has remote access to from he chair and Albert with half of his chest plate removed to be hammered back out. Jet's attack had put a prodigious dent in the metal, enough to hamper his lungs expanding fully, so it had been handed off to Geronimo to be fixed. He sits with Jet, applying the last of repairs to the blond's arm, his own internal workings temporarily visible until his plate is returned.

The silence stretches between them for miles, Albert's hands working methodically to smooth a synthskin patch over the last remaining tear on Jet's arm.

Usually, silence would bug him beyond belief, but feeling Albert next to him and working on his arm, it felt oddly comfortable and strained at the same time. Part of him was waiting for something, some kind if dismissal or something similar from the older man now that he knew the full story, but it hadn't come yet. Maybe it would come once he broke the silence. Maybe that would be better.

He glanced over, letting his eyes run along the once familiar form. Concern sparked through him as he took in exactly how much had been updated and modified. "What happened? You updated your cybernetics...were you hurt?"

"No, not really." He finishes with Jet's arm and puts away the supplies carefully, trying not to jostle his mechanics. It feels strange, having them open to the air like this. It makes him feel hollow and uncomfortable. He sits back down next to Jet, gaze squarely on his hands as he answers.

"I came in for routine maintenance some time ago, just after Gilmore had set up the whole foundation. He and Chang had made their peace over the licencing and Chang's donations allowed the Professor to build this." He motions to the lab at large, all the latest technology gracing the walls and counters. "Technology's advanced a lot since we were initially remodeled."

He chuckles at that. It's been over half a century since then, after all. "Everyone knew I was coming, it's not as if it was a secret, but what I didn't know is they knew my old part grafts were still causing me a lot of pain. I didn't think much of it anymore back then, I'd been dealing with it for so long, but they had a sort of intervention anyway. They convinced me to upgrade."

He lets out a quiet little sigh. "Most of the parts themselves are still the same, but the plating is more organically shaped and lighter so I don't look like such an automaton under my clothing anymore, and everything was removed and reintegrated with new techniques so there's not any pain anymore, not unless I'm fighting for an extended period of time."

It had been quite the decision at the time, but he'd ended up glad that he did it. He even sounds a little cheerful as he leans back, folding his arms loosely. "It may be synthetic, but I even have a heartbeat again."

Somehow it's easier to talk about his cybernetics than it is to address the elephant on the room. How Jet could have gone along with all that, why he hadn't at least called, or tried to subvert them or... anything. He struggles to understand it on his own quietly, mind working silently to sort it out, but he knows he's likely going to have to ask. It's not a conversation he wants to have; he's a little afraid of the answers.

Jet listened, almost smiling at the thought of an intervention; he could see it pretty clearly in his mind, likely Francoise was the leading force behind what had finally convinced the German. "Ah...good. I'm glad." Glad it wasn't something life threatening and glad Albert wasn't in pain anymore. Jet had known about that, but he'd always figured Albert would be stubborn for eternity and just deal with it. He was happy to know he was wrong.

But, ultimately, he couldn't think of what to say. Everything that came to mind seemed too intimate considering he didn't know where they stood. They'd kissed and had said some things to each other, but that was before the blond had torn a bigger gap between them.

And now, faced with that thick silence all over again, he wished he could run, but he was still hooked up to the brain scanner. He hadn't felt this flighty since he actually had run, but he was scared and anxiety ripped at his stomach and it wasn't a feeling he was used to, he didn't know what to do with it.

What if he'd changed while he wasn't looking? What if he'd changed so much that he wasn't what the person they considered family anymore? He couldn't even blame them if that were the case. He'd been so afraid of trying to come back only to find the door closed to him that he'd done that to himself.

He was pretty damn sure his younger self would slam the door in his face, if given the chance.

Maybe all he had left was the government he'd already thrown everything away for, even with their plans for him. Slowly, as the silence stretched on, that was the seed he planted and watered in his mind. But there was still one thing he could do, one thing that might be able to make up for all of it.

"Once they're done scanning me, I think I should go. Maybe I can fix some of this if I can get back and find out what their doing. Maybe even sneak into Samuel Capital and pull the whole thing down a peg." He looked at his hands, now mostly repaired with exception to the things that would just take time, and listened to the faint beating sound he could hear of the other man's new heart.

"Good to know things haven't changed with you," he hadn't meant to sound so harsh but there it is, a little bite behind the irritated words. "You're still a complete idiot."

He's angry. He doesn't want to be angry and he thought he'd had it under control but hearing Jet immediately wanting to leave just after he- they had gotten him back? It turns his tone to ice. That's always how it was with Albert; his ire rarely rises in flames but instead freezes over, seeming to drop the room temperature by degrees.

"You're not going back there. We'll figure it out, but we'll do it the way we're supposed to. As a team." I'm not letting you run off again.

"And what if I'm not part of that team anymore, Albert!?" He hadn't meant to say anything about what was swirling in his head, but it had slipped out and stopping there wasn't enough of an explanation. "Gilmore made it pretty clear how he felt and G and Chang don't seem too keen on keeping me around! And...you can't tell me you're just fine with everything I've done. I've got my reasons...but none of them seem to really matter right now."

Blue eyes shifted to find silver, a glare that lacked the fire in his tone fixed on the older man. "How're we supposed to do anything as a team when I'm more like some add-on than an ally? If I'm supposed to be any help, it'd be to try and sneak back...behind enemy lines." Because that's what his government had become, whether he liked it or not. "Can you honestly tell me you'd trust me to watch your back after everything I've told you? Cause I'm pretty sure they wouldn't." He gestured to the door as though the members in question were just behind it.

He wanted to be wrong, he wanted to believe there was a way to find his place again but he just couldn't see it right now.

"You're the one that left, Jet, not us," as Jet's voice raises in volume, Albert's lowers, his eyes near slits as his frigid gaze never leaves Jet's face. "You fucked up. Royally. That doesn't mean you should run off with your tail between your legs just because it's going to take some work to make things right again. If you've changed enough to quit, then you're not the Jet Link I still put my faith in."

He lets it sink in for a moment, giving the impression of cold fury barely contained as he folds his arms over the gap in his chest, mechanical heart pumping just a little faster. "If they don't trust you, earn it back. Unless a cushy desk job has made you a coward."

Leaning forward so his face is right in Jet's, Albert seems to loom even at his two inch deficit. "Man up."

"I'm not giving up!" It's said with fire, not in anger, but in defiance, more like how his younger self would have said it, but he looked away after a moment. He wasn't giving up, but Albert wasn't completely wrong, either. He was scared of failing at regaining his family's trust, so instead of face that fear, he was looking for an alternate; some way he could help and maybe gain a few points in his favor without anyone relying on him directly.

He could do things that threatened his life without even thinking about it, but faced with this he suddenly found that determination hard to find. Maybe he was just a coward.

"You're right, I did leave, that's on me...and I am scared. But I'm not giving up either. I want to fix things." He just didn't know how or where to start. "I haven't been on a team in thirty years and I didn't exactly do a good job of it the first time around." What if he didn't know how to be a part of one anymore?

He leaned forward a bit, elbows resting on his knees as a small, humorless, smirk played across his lips. "And it wasn't a desk job."

"Good," he tries not to let the wave of relief that washes over him invade his response but it manages to lap at the corners of the word. After everything, he'd been afraid Jet really would just leave again, that he'd grown so far apart or that his values had changed enough that he'd changed fundementally. Albert leans back again, out of Jet's space, more to prevent himself from gathering the blond in his arms than anything.

"You were fine before, at least until that last bit." Spectacularly flying overseas in a massive hissy fit kind of overshadows his performance the rest of the time. Albert drops his arms, posture less tight as he talks. "You need to tell everyone that you intend to make things right and then demonstrate it, not go running off to try and get yourself killed in an effort to avoid it. Jet, you know us. The whole His Voice thing and you coming in here guns blazing definitely put us on edge, but it's not as if we decided good riddance the moment you left. Far from it. Francoise tried to call you for months, Great finagled his schedule to visit America for work as often as he could and make sure you were alright and give the team updates."

He leaves out anything personal. He leaves out how he'd been so angry that Jet could throw away everything they had together over some petty power struggle. He leaves out that he'd deleted Jet's information from his cell phone in a fit of bitterness only to add it back a week later from memory. He leaves out how he avoided Great Britain's check ins because it hurt too much to think about things happening in Jet's life that he couldn't share first hand. That he was fine, or even happier, without Albert. He leaves out how worried the entire sordid mess makes him, that the government Albert knows Jet trusted at least as much as he once trusted them betrayed him, used him, and tried to discard him. That maybe if either of them had just picked up the damn phone and tried to sort this out a decade or two sooner, this wouldn't be happening. He wouldn't be sick with worry and fear that what they had isn't still there.

He leaves it out because now isn't the time, and he leaves it out because there are some things about which Albert is a coward too. He'd already struggled with losing Jet once, managed to coast along back on his feet. He's not sure he can do it again with Jet right there again telling him for certain things have changed and he's been outgrown. But there's one thing that remains true regardless of where they stand with each other romantically. No matter what.

"You're part of this family we've built, Jet. Even now."

Edited 2013-12-07 17:49 (UTC)

Albert had this annoying habit of being right a good deal of the time, particularly when Jet thought he wasn't. Usually, this would broker some sort of vague annoyance in the American that would pass quickly enough. This time, that annoyance was absent and in it's place there was a tentative feeling of relief.

He knew Albert was right in principle, the sentiment was true, Jet just didn't know if he could actually pull off what he needed to on his side of things; there was still a scared little voice in the back of his mind wondering if he'd just make it worse. Oil on flame. But that didn't mean he was going to give up either, if he was going to fail, he might as well do it by trying first.

And at least one part was true, Frannie had tried to call him a bunch of times and he'd only picked up the phone once only to hang up on her less than a minute later. GB had called him up several times, a lot more than Jet had expected their circles to run, but all of it he'd just pushed away and buried under his determination that it wasn't salvageable. Because, if he closed that door, then it would hurt less than having it shut in his face. And if he believed it was sealed shut behind him, that made the what ifs that followed him every time he glanced at Albert's number in his phone easier to ignore.

Maybe he could fix things, if he tried hard enough, there would be a lot to make up for but that was what twenty-seven years away got him. At least when it came to the others.

He didn't know about the man next to him. He supposed he should be thankful he was being talked to.

"Yeah, you're right." It only lasted a moment, but his hand reached to Albert's wrist, held tight a moment and then fell away. It was less than he wanted and more than he hoped for, but it was enough to convey the thanks that hadn't escaped his lips.

Metal fingers catch Jet's longer ones as he pulls away and Albert looks down as he runs his thumb over the pale white skin on the back of his hand. He knows it's not the time, not the place the discuss this, to sort things out between them. Hell, Francoise can probably hear everything they're saying as she runs through all of Jet's brain functions and processes. It should be done in private, if at all. Maybe they should just leave it, instead. Spare each other any more pain.

But that feels wrong too.

There is something he needs to know, something still personal but not so focused on them and their relationship, such as it is or isn't.

"Jet... Why did you go along with their plans if you knew it was wrong?" He has a little inkling of why. He knows the psychology of joining gangs, of humanity's search for belonging, but it doesn't track with Albert. They'd never made Jet feel as if he didn't belong, or so he thinks. Yes there'd been a fight, but they hadn't kicked him out. Moreover, he knows Jet to have a distinct moral compass when it comes to innocents getting hurt. How could he compromise that?

Feeling Albert's hand on his made his heart skip a beat and he squeezed it back, but that question made his heart sink instead and his hand went loose in Albert's hold all over again. His eyes found the floor in front of them and try as he might to keep his tone even, the shame licked at the edges and threatened to come pouring out. This was one of those reasons that wasn't good enough. It had fueled his actions, but even he'd known it was weak and stupid at the time. As he didn't want to, he would explain.

"I'd been working there for years already, getting a name for myself, finding a new niche, but I was ultimately still new; just different enough to be kept on the edges and not on the inner circle, if I said anything, they'd have been perfectly willing to drop me. It's stupid, but...I wasn't as strong as I like to think I am. I'd been part of a group for so long, the thought of being alone again..." He shook his head. He sounded pathetic. People had died and he'd been worried about what would happen to him.

Maybe he had changed too much to fit in.

"They probably would have locked me away for treason if I'd actually said anything against them because of all that I knew. I probably could have stopped them, even at that coast, if I'd just gotten the word out. But I got scared. By that time, it had already been two and a half decades, I didn't think I'd have anywhere else to go." So thousands upon thousands of innocent people had died. True, maybe he wouldn't have been able to blow the whistle before he got stopped, maybe he'd be rotting in a prison somewhere instead of in the Foundation right now, and those people would have died anyway, but at least he would have tried. But he hadn't.

It had grown outside of what they'd been planning with His Voice and all of the extra bombings, but that didn't excuse the attack on American soil or any of the others that had been carried out by those damn Lazarus cyborgs that he might have been able to prevent. And he hated himself for it.

A small voice said that, worse, if he'd said anything they might have overpowered him and used him more than they had already, maybe taken advantage of Black Ghost's technology or the information he had that they could access with the right software and a few well-placed keystrokes. But the point was, he hadn't and they hadn't and it didn't matter in the face of what he had let happen. He'd kept silent.

"That makes sense." It's a little bit of a relief that it does. Painful too, but still a relief.

He goes quiet again, not certain what to say. He wishes he could let go of the separation, that he could just feel what he did in the rush of emotion when Jet had faced him down in the hallway, giving no thought to anything but pressing his lips to the American's as he'd imagined almost to the day since their parting. He wonders if Jet holds the same desire. It meant something, Albert can tell that much. If it didn't he wouldn't have snapped out of it, he wouldn't have reached for Albert's hand moments ago either, but Albert still fears it's something he's not thinking of, that what they had is unsalvageable because of the time apart.

He won't know unless he asks. He's being a hypocrite.

But it's such a big question, something so personal and important and something he doesn't want to bring up if it will just cause Jet more distress. It likely will. Better to wait.

But... what if Jet goes off again, or if they meet their end because of this His Voice thing. Like Joe. Like Pyunma and GB. He could die without telling Jet he's still the most important person to him, as selfish a notion as it is feeling he has to tell him.

All the best and worst case scenarios swirl back and forth across Albert's mind until finally he resolves to say something, test the waters... of course that's when Geronimo comes back with his reshaped chest plate and a welcome visitor in tow.

Joe is alive.

Any disappointment or fear he feels at possibly having lost that connection with the older man he pushes down when Geronimo comes back and Joe follows him in. Now's not the time.

He leaves Albert to put himself back together as Jet approached his once-friend with uncertainty. He barely got an apology out before he found himself trapped in and returning a tight hug from the other cyborg.

Unfortunately, there's barely time for that either before Gilmore has them back in the control room and talking plans. Jet offered the security codes to the NSA systems he knew Francoise had collected in the brain scan as a way to see what was going on and it was those that led to them learning about the crisis the American government was currently facing: a sub in some unknown location was intending to shoot off a bunch of highly destructive missiles to 'help humanity start over.'

A short discussion later led to a decision to board a ship off the coast of Hawaii and use it to send intercepting missiles. Jet volunteered to go and for the first time in years, suited up like old times. Some weird mixture of emotions swirled in him when he found one of the new uniforms had been made for him as well, even in his absence, and it made him pause for only a second before moving on with what they had to do. He could think about it later.

Ivan teleported them to the ship, Albert got them in and Joe and Jet took out everyone else in the ship while Frannie and Albert took the control room. Everything seemed to be going well, until one of their missiles missed one of the submarine's. It wouldn't destroy the world on it's own, but millions upon millions would still die if it wasn't stopped.

And, of course, Joe had an idea, one that mirrored actions taken decades ago and while Jet listened to Francoise question the other cyborg's decision, the other blond was already coming to one himself. "I'll go too. If we go together, we'll be more likely to be able to stop it."

It's too dangerous. Your engines weren't constructed for low-oxygen functionality. How many times are you going to run off and disappear?! I only just now got you back, we have so much work to do, so much to fix, and you're going to get yourself killed again. I can't take losing you again!

He wants to say it, his heart twists at it even behind his stony expression. That's all it is now, a mask. But it's the face he need to give. This really is the best option. Between the two of them the success rate goes up - he can see a little more hope in Francoise face at Jet's decision, tears still stinging the corners of her eyes but not falling. Albert nearly wishes he could show even that much but he just remains blank. It's easier that way, at least for the others.

He speaks up, meaning to sound his usual mix of paternal authority but it comes out soft and sad and he hates himself for making the right decision just that much harder. "Both of you, then."

Jet nodded and waited as Francoise asked Ivan to teleport them to the missile. But then she and Joe were saying good-bye and Jet couldn't watch because the thought of 'what if they died anyway and this was it' ran through his head.

He became painfully aware of the older man still near him and how much his hands ached to reach out to him. Just in case. It was light and nearly unnoticeable, but his fingers did manage a small pass along Albert's sleeve before being pulled away again.

The blue light was growing stronger and he could feel the pull at his center as Ivan started to rip them from where they were. Blue eyes tinged in sadness finally darted over to find silver, even if it was only to find a stony mask--Albert's tough decision coping mechanism of choice--before the light engulfed him and he and Joe vanished in a snap.

It was strange floating in the atmosphere there, the world continuing on beneath them, but he only let the thrill of it chase through him a moment before he kicked his boosters on and grabbed Joe's wrist, positioning them to catch the rocket as Joe sped them up enough to grab on. Even as Joe was attaching the detonation device, Jet could tell his systems had been none too thrilled to find limited oxygen to pull in and burn. They needed to get this done soon and head back down in case Jet had overestimated himself.

That was when the paneling on the missile flew off and sent both cyborgs flying.

He feels Jet's fingers at his sleeve as the light from Ivan's power grows more insistent, enveloping Jet and Joe with sparks and kicking up a preternatural wind in the control room of the ship. Knowing their time is short, Albert clutches Jet's hand tightly. Every modicum of worry, every bubbling emotion he keeps firmly pushed under the surface is inherent in that grasp, as if he can tether Jet back to Earth with his bare hand.

Their eyes barely lock before Jet's gone.

And all that's left to do is watch.

And wait.

And hope.

Jet didn't hesitate, the engines in his legs kicked on to full power as he reached out to grab Joe and push them towards the missile. It wasn't enough. The panels on his back opened, straining at his uniform until the boosters there kicked on and burned the fabric out of their way.

Slowly, slowly, they caught up to their target as it totated itself. Joe's voice sounded in his head, telling him how close they were, just a little further. But it was a distance he couldn't afford. Already, he could see warning after warning appearing in the corners of his vision; the boosters were straining, the oxygen level was too low to properly ignite it, his system was trying to cannibalise itself and reaching into fuel reserves to meet the demands Jet was making of it. He was burning out.

Warning pain lanced through his shoulder as one booster died and more ran up his legs to tell him the jets were giving out, but he pushed them more. They had to stop this missile.

Further, further, until he finally felt Joe grab on to the thing and let go of his hand. Just as his system finally quit, burned out by trying to do what it couldn't. He was vaguely aware that Joe was trying to talk to him, but he was already drifting back, caught by gravity and dead in the air. The warnings in his eyes told him which parts were shutting down first and the impending overload in the ignition system in his left leg and it took longer to register that Joe was yelling his name as pain lanced through that leg and his eyes closed.

They'd succeeded, but now he regretted not talking to Albert more, not just outright kissing the older man instead of the brief touch they'd had. At least he hadn't promised to return, even if he'd had every intention of doing so.

Jet couldn't feel himself breaking up as he fell through the stratosphere, but he could feel the pressure of Albert's hand squeezing his and he tried to reach through the brainwave to talk to just the older man. He didn't know if it worked, but it didn't ultimately matter as the heat and pressure claimed him.

"I'm sorry."

Francoise jumps as the console bucks under the force of Albert's fist slamming down onto it, leaving a divot in its metallic surface and causing the screen nearby to flicker for just a second. The screen that shows three blips; Joe and the missile, and Jet falling away slowly.

"I'm sorry."

He squeezes his eyes shut, head remaining bowed over the counter. This can't be happening, not when he'd only just gotten Jet back, not when they still had so much to work out and to say and do.

He doesn't know how much time he has. For all he knows Jet could be gone already, but as Joe starts speaking, his words echoing over the brainwave even though it's directed at none of the cyborgs, Albert hopes his words are still heard.

"I love you."

It's terrible to say it now, to not even know if he heard it, to not have said it every single time he'd wanted to. Maybe if he'd said it on that day Jet had left, maybe if he'd said it before Yomi, maybe if he'd said it any of the hundreds of times he'd thought it then it would have made a difference.

Or maybe not.

But Jet needs to know. Before Albert loses him for good, he needs to know.

Francoise presses gentle fingers to Albert's shoulder as there's a small blip and the screen clears, the brainwave suddenly silent. He takes a shuddering breath and follows her to the deck numbly. He should be comforting her, like that time standing in the choppy shallows of the pacific, the blonde crying into his chest and Albert silently mirroring her sorrow. But this time she's the strong one. He can't even bring himself to leave the shadow of the cabin looming on the starlit deck, but she walks to the bow of the ship, watching light streak across the sky. He watches as she folds her hands, bows her head, and wishes on those falling stars.

And he makes a wish of his own, too.

It was almost like waking up only without the grogginess that usually came with sleep. Blue eyes opened to see water all around and a concrete 'shore' a little further ahead. If it wasn't for the fact he seemed to be sitting in a chair on the wster's surface, he'd have thought he was in Italy. It would figure the afterlife would look like Italy, at least if all those catholic lessons he'd had decades back were actually right. And that was even assuming he didn't find himself in Hell. If he was, it was nice enough for being what it was.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. He stayed where he was, lounging in the chair, eyes unmoving from the water's still surface in front of him. Whether he was in Heaven or Hell didn't really matter to him now, he was out of the picture for good and an echo reverberated in the back of his head that made his chest clench.

'I love you.'

It was probably just a delusion cooked up by his dying brain, something he'd decided he wanted to hear in his last moments instead of reality. There was no real reason for the man whose voice had said it to say it then, not when he was dying and they'd barely had any time to reconcile in their few hours not on the outs with each other.

That didn't really matter now either.

Jet sat in a somber but peaceful silence until it was broken by the sound of a motorboat pulling up and stopping behind and to the right of him before carrying on. He thought it strange, but didn't turn to look at it, not until he heard two very familiar voices that flooded him with relief and brought a smile to his face. He was quite as alone as he'd been fearing...and no matter where this technically was, it definitely seemed a little but more like the nicer place.

The world had changed.

It wasn't just Francoise's sudden and understandable though still no less strange turn to religion. It wasn't his government commending him for a job well done in thwarting the 'American threat to the globe.' It wasn't even the new ability to walk on water, wherever that came from.

It was the empty silences and the sting of loss. It was the finality of it, knowing there was no longer any hope of the future he'd still entertained they could still someday manage to build even with 27 years of Jet not speaking to him. The future he'd wished for in a fit of desperation watching the stars fall.

It's impossible now.

He loses track of the days since it happened, taking a leave of absence to help Geronimo with reconstructing what of the Foundation had been damaged, to go with Gilmore to give personal apologies and condolences to the families of those injured or killed when the main building had been attacked. They were kind and held no grudges, every one of them, but Albert felt the need to explain that it hadn't been Jet's fault regardless.

He works with Ivan to make sure Samuel Klein sees justice as a criminal in the eyes of the United Nations, not just the United States. They leak a document here, a recorded conversation there, working from data Francoise had scanned when Jet had finally come home.

He stays late, long after Ivan is asleep, picking through the recordings and scans and readouts, picking through all that remains of that stupid wish of his that won't come true. Can't come true.

And then, one day, he gets a call, and life becomes a series of moments instead of a continual flow.

Here he is running across canals.

Here, passing Gilmore and the rest as if he doesn't see them. He does, but that's hardly what his attention is on at the moment. They don't try to stop him.

And here, ignoring Pyunma and GB, ignoring everything but the shock of blond hair, the crystal blue eyes, and his heart in his throat as he throws his arms around Jet, stumbling to his knees in front of the chair and holding on tightly to his future. To his wish.

The thought that this was actually real and for whatever reason, he and his family members weren't dead, had barely solidified in his head when he noticed the dark streak of a man running towards him. Silver hair and eyes, and an angular face he recognized sent his heart into his throat and he sat up a little more, intending to stand to meet either the hug or the fist that figured was headed his way. He never got the chance to really move and it was probably for the best or they might have gone tumbling if Jet had lost his footing.

A solid form pressed tightly against him as strong and familiar arms encircled him and suddenly everything else fell away. Right this second, it was just them and his heart choking him, making his eyes sting and words impossible. He broght his own arms up to wrap tightly around the German, his hands clenching the fabric of Albert's shirt as though he might just vanish if even a single aspect if Het's hold doesn't indicate that he wants the other man exactly where he is. And he does, he needs Albert against him, holding him, because that was what cemented if for him, that was what told Jet he truly was alive and well and had am honest second chance to make things right.

His hold never loosening, he shifts and slides out of the chair so he's sitting on his knees and can make them be that much closer. Jet buries his face in the junction of Albert's neck and shoulder, willing his eyes to stay dry despite the stinging and fighting back the lump that prevented him from speaking. Finally he won enough to get a rough whisper out.

"I'm sorry. For everything, for all of it. I want to try again, I want to fix it. Albert, I'm so sorry." I love you.

Edited 2013-12-17 22:19 (UTC)

"Shut up," I know.

His voice is strained Albert struggling and failing miserably to keep his own emotions under control. He swallows around his throat not wanting to cooperate, though he successfully bites back a sob even as he tastes salt from the corners of his mouth.

I thought I'd never see you again.

For once, he does as he's told and doesn't let any of the hundreds of words spinning in his head, similarly pointless, come spilling out. Instead, he squeezes tighter before pulling away only enough to move his hands to the sides of Albert's face.

The sight of those tears breaks the dam on some of his own, but he doesn't notice, he was too focused on Albert's face, his eyes, his lips, lips he pressed his own against in an effort to convey the stuff that mattered.

Let me fix this.

I'm here to stay for as long as you'll have me.

Nothing's more important than you.

He kisses everywhere he can reach on Jet's face after that first kiss, his own hands mirroring Jet's and tears falling freely and unheeded but joy and relief apparent in every movement. He pulls him close, not caring that the surface of the water is getting their knees wet and apparently not even cognizant that Gilmore and the others have approached.

A quiet cough and a polite chuckle finally break the moment, Albert taking a moment to rub his eyes on his sleeve with a quiet and soggy laugh, looking to Jet warmly before shakily getting them both back to their feet.

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